


A Caged Bird Will Never Sing

by actuallygross



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Porn Plot, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, F!Reader - Freeform, F/M, Probably Bad Plot, mute!reader - Freeform, slow burn?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:14:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28818348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actuallygross/pseuds/actuallygross
Summary: He's never heard her scream. He's never heard her cry. He's never heard her beg for mercy or sob at his demands. A survivor with no voice, with no words of her own.He wanted nothing more than to hear her calling his name.
Relationships: F.J.S.J. | The Legion/Reader, Frank Morrison/Reader, Frank Morrison/You
Comments: 15
Kudos: 147





	1. Death and Repeat

“Do you even know what she sounds like?”

“I’ve never gotten a hello out of her. Let alone her name.”

“Even if she ain’t much for talkin’ she’s damn good with trials. I ain’t bothered.”

“I just wish she was friendlier.”

  
  
  


You were never much for conversation. Even when you were alive. It’s not as if you couldn’t speak. Just that you never saw good reason to. Of course you had your talkative moments as a toddler. Babbling and learning basic speech, but somewhere along the line, something sealed those lips. It had crippled your life, according to psychiatrists, but you had never longed for anything more than your own company. Friends, connections, small talk between strangers, it all felt entirely and utterly pointless.

Fortunately for you, it seemed life was entirely pointless as well.

You had no memory of death. Only the cold, striking heat of something lodged in your throat. It was human to fear the end, whatever it led to. You just never expected it to lead here. Some strange and endless game. Void of purpose. Void of meaning. The others would blame an entity. No-- The Entity. It trapped you here, training you to a routine of fear, torture, and death. It was Hell. Pure and utter Hell. But you were never one to complain.

  


“Y/N, stay here with the generator. I’m gonna grab Kate.” Meg slapped grease against her jeans, sprinting through a doorway towards one of the hooks. You stayed diligent, rearranging wires, reconnecting plugs and cords.

Sweat beaded heavy on your forehead, yet your concentration held resolve. Words were nothing more than a distant stranger. Anyone’s mind might be racing with thoughts. Sentences. A monologuing voice in their head. But yours was always quiet. Ready to tunnel any task that needed doing. Without a sharp tongue, that mind grew twice as deadly. It was your greatest weapon.

The generator roared to life, the overhead light resurrecting; a blinding beacon. As fast as you were quiet, you bolted. Your steps padded against the cold, concrete floor, blood and sinew littered everywhere.

You hated this damn meat plant. It smelled. Like really bad. But, an interior realm echoed. Noises amplified. Your ears strained, listening for that tell tale heartbeat, or any noise at all.

Someone screamed. An agonizing cry, though not a shriek. No one was hooked, merely slashed.

It sounded like Dwight. You liked Dwight. You shared plenty in common. Like how quiet you both were. Though if someone as sneaky as him could get caught out, you couldn’t let your guard down.

Time dragged to a crawl, seconds passing like hours. You’d duck behind boxes, barrels, large, metal cages. Corners were carefully scouted, every move precise, purposeful.

Despite having only been dead a few months, layouts and strategy had come easy to you. You obsessed over it. Like some grotesque puzzle, and like every puzzle, there had to be an answer. Even if you had to search for the next century.

Another terrible screech, this one more harsh. Was it Kate again? Today was not her day. It wouldn’t be long before she had to die. This would be her second hook. Quickly, you snuck down jagged stairs, a floor lower.

Lights were dim here, but you knew there was still a generator you had to work for. More crawling about, pressed against walls, using any box as a shield. If you could just get there in time. You rounded a few more corners, sliding forth and crouching near the last generator, boldly snaking your hands inside to begin repair.

Weeks ago it’d be common occurrence to have things blow up, blasting smoke and fire in your eyes, practically screaming your location to the enemy. But with hard work and dedicated focus, things turned into a routine. Sparks crackled, the generator’s pistons slowly but surely pumping themselves to full strength. Just a bit longer. You almost had it.

  


“There’s my little songbird!”

A blade gashed itself beneath your shoulders, spilling blood like rain. Your voice, as resolute as it had always been, would not surrender. Even with agony paralyzing you like a vice, all any killer had ever gotten out of you were distilled grunts and strained gasps for air. Instinct sprinted you away, trailing back where you came to retread the staircase.

You hadn’t even bothered to turn around and meet your attacker but that voice had to belong to the one, and only, Legion. You heard someone refer to him as Frank, but between all four of them you hardly cared to keep track.

They were all the same to you. Fast, wicked fast, with a penchant for stabbing. Often they’d not bother with idle chit chat, but Frank loved to goad at you. Perhaps it was because you had never spoken back. Likely morbid curiosity. The same curiosity that tugged your interest as you pondered how murderers might look beneath their masks. It was a human question, and you would never blame them for wondering the same as you.

“Come _back!_ I want to hear you cry for me!”

The heartbeat pounded. A heart that never belonged to you. It signalled their presence. A warning of proximity. You waited at the top of the stairs, though always the gentleman, Frank made sure you need not wait long.  
“Did you miss me? Been too long since we got to play. I hear Danny got to bully you in my place. Lucky him.”

You began to loop. Circling around a designated path, palettes perfectly prepared to pile over. Legion gave chase, but he cackled wildly, as though he adored their little dance.

“Ring around the rosies! A pocketful of posies--!”

You remained steadfast. Looping and looping again. If you couldn’t restart the generator, the least you could do was waste his time. Maybe the others would find a way out.

“Ashes...ashes…”

Distance between you two stayed safe. Maybe you could pull this off.

“We all fall--”

One blink too long and you had lost him behind one of the cages. Where did he--

“ **DOWN!** ”

One more strike into your back and he had crumpled you to the floor. More voiceless gurgling, blood puddling from your mouth. Legion stood above you, slamming the heel of his foot into your skull.

“C’mon you little shit. Just one good scream. It’s all I want for Christmas!”

Your attitude could never be described as fiery, but you were sure tempted to spit blood at his feet.

“It’s only a matter of time before I get what I want.” Now he was kneeling, one hand gripping at your jaw, forcing you to stare at him. “I’m sure a good girl like you moans like a whore, eh? Oh what I’d _kill_ to hear that voice screaming my name.” One good tug had his knife dislodged; another hiss through your teeth. Subdued reactions from your end might read as apathy, but pain wracked at your body like a thunderstorm. Every movement you made, no matter how small, sent wildfire coursing through your blood. It surprised even you that words never left even in times like these. Maybe you lost your voice a long time ago.

“But. Clock’s ticking. Daddy wants his pat on the back from the big man upstairs. So you gotta die, sweetheart.” Just like all the other trials gone wrong, you were thrown over someone’s shoulder, carried off to be hooked like fresh slaughter. Maybe next time you’d get the loop right. 

That was the one tried and true promise you could rely on. No matter what happened, no matter who died, no matter what vital organ might stain the wall, there would always be a next time.


	2. This Hell I Call Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things were a routine. You knew what to expect. As long as things stayed the same. It was almost comfortable.
> 
> But this was your purgatory, and comfort was never an option.

Hell was unchanging. Dependable. It was a pattern that you started to rely on. The monotony had a tendency to drive most insane, but you came to terms with your eternity faster than most. 

Each trial began the same, and ended one of two ways. Four survivors. One killer. A game you won with skill. With wit. With speed. With stealth. Either you lived or died. Sometimes all would die. Sometimes all would live. No matter the outcome, every survivor was revived.

The backdrop; a shabby, run-down camp. A moonlit clearing nearby was the first thing you’d see after every match. The fog, a facet of The Entity’s power, withdrew and deposited survivors as it saw fit. On a good day, you’d be whisked away once per evening. On particularly unlucky occasions, you would be running for your life up to five times a day.

It hit some harder than others. Survivors like Ace or King seemed to thrive on carnage, even if it toiled their bodies and ran their minds ragged. Others were soft-spoken, crippled each time they were summoned. Claudette was a scholar at heart, opting to lend support as opposed to raw strength. With harder weeks came the breakdowns. As dawn broke over skylines, you’d often hear people sobbing, screaming for permanent rest.

You? Well, you handled it okay. Holes that threatened to drag you down were instead filled with tedium. Busywork that served to pass your incarceration. Collecting offerings, carving maps into the dirt, hours and hours of physical training, what exercise you could manage. As much as you’d like a fully stocked gym, large stones and tree branch pull ups would do for now. It was impossible to tell if such things even had an effect on your body. Muscle tone never seemed to change. More than anything else you were just desperate for something to do. A way to fill time.

Other survivors passed time the best way they knew how. Talking. Groups of people gathered around the central bonfire, sharing life stories, planning battle strategy, cracking jokes and spiraling into the occasional argument. You would love to join them. But you’d never be able to, for obvious reasons. It didn’t matter. After the first month they began to tolerate how things were. None of them had the privilege of calling you their friend, but as far as you knew, none of them were really bothered that you had never talked. They might gossip, share rumors, but ultimately each survivor had better things to worry about than the sealed lips of a strange girl.

After your arrival, an entire week went by without any of them knowing what to call you. Some just said “girl”. Others coined catchy nicknames that varied in quality. After two weeks you had grown tired, and gathered a few survivors near the bonfire, spelling your name into the ashes with a fallen twig. Your handwriting was well-practiced and they finally started using your name. Y/N. Pretty soon they all knew your legal moniker, though a handful clung to their favorite nicknames. Silent Sally. Chatterbox. Things like that. It didn’t bother you. In life you might’ve found it irritating. Maybe even offensive. Now? It was no more than trivial playground affairs. Half your life was running from crazed monsters intent on ripping your guts out, what did it matter if a couple people called you a stupid nickname?

At least tonight felt calm. You had just finished your trial, Frank’s mocking laughter still bouncing around your head like a yo-yo. Returning to camp, the fog retreated back to the forest, satisfied with itself. It was never easy to predict- but you figured it would be a good while before it returned. Maybe a whole twelve hours. That’d be nice.

“Why the fuck was he so intent on shanking your ass, Kate?” Meg stomped at the ground, frazzled and upset. She was prickly at times, especially so when she lost. “Spent half the match trying to save your ass. Dwight, too.” The boy in question would sigh, scratching at some imaginary itch on his arm.

“I’m usually so good at hiding...but he found me so quick…”

“Well, get better. Next time I might not feel nice enough to unhook you.”

They would squabble for a while. You’d inwardly sort of groan, annoyed that after your first hook, not a single one of them had attempted to save you. That’s how it went. Despite your tenacity during trials, it was pretty rare that teammates bothered to grab you once the killer got to you, even if it was your first.

None of the other survivors ever displayed much hostility towards you, but none of them ever really tried to show kindness either. It wouldn’t normally be something you’d sulk over; it happened all the time when you were alive, but you’d get so much more done if you weren’t essentially dead at the first takedown. You’d need a better strategy.

When things started you had a distinct advantage. Survivors were loud if they got hit. Whining and crying and sobbing. It was easy for killers to swipe at them once, tagging them, then leaving to swipe the others. It only took a decent pair of ears to follow the whimpering once everyone had been injured. You? You were quiet. All the time. Even with a knife wound bleeding out your stomach, you’d keep all reactions to a muted wheeze. It was great. Until they got smarter.

Recently, it felt like killers could still find you, despite how silent you were. Were they purposefully sneaking around, listening not for noise, but for the absence of it? Had they memorized all your usual hiding spots? That’d take a pretty dedicated person. There were over twenty survivors at this point- they’d have to keep track of everyone’s hiding spots.

Unless.

They didn’t care about everyone else?

That was dangerous thinking. Killers didn’t play favorites, did they? Well, not in the traditional sense. It wasn’t as if they were sparing you. They’d have to be specifically stalking you like some prized animal. You hadn’t been around long, and even if you had, you had no one to talk to. No one to answer questions. Others who have been stuck here for years...surely they’d know more than you.

No.

You were falling down a hole.

Of course this was absurd. Both Kate and Meg died in the last match. Dwight had to resort to jumping down the hatch. It wasn’t just you that died. It wasn’t just you.

Your shoulders finally relaxed and you huffed. It was a simple adaptation. Killers just weren’t used to someone like you. So they improved their hunt. Basic logic.

Even if Frank liked to talk to you more than the others, it was just that rotten personality. Egging on someone who’d never fight back.

He didn’t _like_ you. He was just an asshole.

By the time you had snapped out of your little crisis, the others were long gone, already yucking it up at the bonfire. Your heels swiveled, leading you in the opposite direction; the forest. You weren’t in any danger. There was no harm in wandering far from camp. Killers never showed up here, and even if they did, they’d never hold the power to hurt. The Entity was wicked, but it played by its own rules. Torture need not exist here. That’s what the trials were for.

Evening wind nipped your cheeks, the woods growing louder with every step. You’d always hear animals. Bugs, frogs, the ominous wail of an owl. Of course, you had never seen such animals appear. The ambience was nice, but you’d never believe the forest to be real past sights and sounds. This was all an elaborate stage play, after all, and these thickets simply set the scene. Though, you had to at least feel grateful enough that senses remained intact outside of the trials. Air chilled your skin. Colors were vibrant, even at night. Your nose was never dull, always filled with evergreen pine and faraway wildflowers.

And when you’d lie in the grass it was soft. Weeds tickled your ankles and leaves caught themselves, tangled in your hair. Even if all you wore was a tattered, old hoodie and denim shorts that barely reached your knees, the cold would never bother you. You welcomed it.

Trials always hung heavy with the stench of death. Blood and muck and fog that dulled the mind. It was suffocating some days, and intolerable on all the others. At least here you could feel the cold of night in its purest form, without the threat of death looming close behind. Your eyes fluttered upwards, counting stars, connecting their dots. In this afterlife sleep was never a necessity and yet you felt compelled to sneak a nap.  
Your eyes fell to a close. Cradled to sleep in the arms of the tall grass. Nothing but the hissing winds to sing you to sleep. Peace.  
  
  
“Is that a little songbird I see?”

  
  


Good things never last long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {{ this was kind of an exposition chapter i guess, kind of slow! but thanks for reading anyways :] !! i hope you enjoy! }}


	3. Wicked Smiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rules of the game were finite. But when trials closed, could boundaries be folded?

At first, you figured it was a trick of the wind. You were only hearing things. A figment of some memory. That’s all it was.

  


Then it spoke again.

“Why aren’t you with your buddies? Not welcome at the lunch table?”

Your body practically shot up straight, instinct revving like an engine. This wasn’t a trial, right? Did you wander too far? Were you dreaming? He shouldn’t be here. He _couldn’t_ be here.

“Come on, come on. No one’s around. You can talk to me.”

Eyes scanned the grass, scrutinizing the lonely gaps that dipped between tree trunks and tall ferns. You couldn’t see him. But that voice- it was unmistakable. His smart ass chime, those hounding demands, the way you could practically hear him smiling. But how was he here?

Cold breath tickled your neck, a chilled snicker. You snapped around, yet saw no one. Your heartbeat had started to thrum. Why were you so nervous? Even on the brink of death, shoulder clawed with a hook, tension never rose above mild trepidation. It had been drilled into your routine to know death would never be permanent, second chances no longer a miracle, but a grim promise. Cycling and cycling again...that was the trial. How did the rules bend after that was over?

“Ohh- you’re shaking like a leaf, songbird. Are you that scared?”

You grit your teeth, surprised at how irritated you were. You weren’t scared of him. If only you could scream it. Declare it like some proud soldier.

Legs finally detangled, scrambling to your feet, adopting a sort of defensive stance. Hands raised, knees bent, ready to sprint at a moment’s notice.

“Don’t fly away. I promise I won’t do nothing bad.”

Suddenly you’d feel hands grip at your shoulders, spinning you to meet him face to face. Certainly he’d meet expectations, appearances mirroring what you’d see in trials, maybe less blood. That well-worn hoodie, crinkled leather jacket, form-fitting pants caked in grime and mud.

  


And of course, the cherry on top.

That crooked, petrified smile. Etched with paint, or- something red.

Was he always so tall? Or did you truly feel so tiny that you’d shrink at his behest.

Pinhole eyes bore into you, and you wondered just how much visibility something like that offered. Clearly enough to get the job done.

“There's no danger. You’re smart enough to figure it out. Can’t hurt you too much out here. Makes him mad.”

Him? Was he referring to The Entity?

“I just wanted to pay you a visit. Get away from it all, as one might say.”

His fingers dug, gripping at your shoulders, keeping you anchored. It was moderately uncomfortable, but your expression remained stern. You could hear his breathing, heavy but slow. You bet that mask smelled to high heaven.

“...Hello?” He drew closer, that mask lingering inches from your face. Even up close you couldn’t see anything past those eyes. Maybe a glint? It wasn’t even guaranteed there was a human behind that mask. Other killers were known to fall under the classification of supernatural...why not him?

“Tch. You really ain’t gonna talk? I thought if I caught you out here without your little friends gettin’ in the way...” Frank’s shoulders would wither, leaning back to tilt his head. “Guess it was a bit crazy. You won’t even scream with a knife in your chest.”

His fingers twitched, then slowly, they’d pull back to shove themselves into his pockets. You were almost tempted to run, but something kept you still. Something that yearned. A curiosity, awake and eager to feed. It took no more than three seconds for Frank to catch on.

“What? Not gonna run and hide?” He huffed. “Just as cocky as ever. It pisses me off.” Frank dared to step forward, encroaching himself into your space. Challenged, you’d puff out that chest of yours. He said it himself. He couldn’t hurt you. What was he gonna do, talk you to death?

“Just cause I can’t twist my knife in your skull doesn’t mean you should let your guard down.” He had maneuvered a leg to angle around yours, sweeping your footing out with one tug. You crumbled, slamming into the ground, both hands splayed to catch yourself, elbows scratching into the dirt.

“Ohhh. Yeah- that’s a good look.” Frank fell to his knees, straddling your waist. You couldn’t see his face, but there was no doubt in your mind that he was grinning like the Devil. “You’re speechless, babe. Am I that incredible? Can’t even find the words.” Now he had both hands planted, sandwiching your head, prowling above you like a cat who found his mouse. Moonlight caught the rim of his hood, a ghastly silhouette that one would meet in their nightmares.

“I never figured I’d be one for the silent types.” Your eyes narrowed. “I mean- s’not like me and Mikey get along. He’s never any fun.” A finger traced itself down your cheek, stopping just short of your lips. “...so why you?”

The question hovered, a question he seemed to be asking himself. You stayed perfectly still, knowing that struggle would be what would drive him forward, always looking for a fight. You had seen it countless times before. The way he bristled to life when survivors gave chase, flailing like animals when he’d hilt that knife into their skin. You’d never want to encourage this behavior. If luck would have you, he’d get bored and find someone else to fixate on.

  


Without warning, he’d suddenly crouch near. The grit of that mask scraping your jaw, his breath an echo that snared your ear.

“Just one word, babe.”

Past his hood you could see the sky begin to swirl. It was getting cloudy.

“If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” His thumb snagged at the bottom of his veil, teasing, lifting slowly.

“Aren’t you dying to see?”

You’d see a flash of skin, the tensing of his neck.

“Only for you--”

Before either of you had a chance to react, pitch black fog flooded the woods. You tried to move, swiping a hand to grab at him.

  


The last thing you saw was the white of smiling teeth.

“Farewell, little songbird.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {{ another chapter weee. still getting a feel on how their interactions will go, thanks for reading tho!! }}

**Author's Note:**

> {{ hello! thank you all for reading :) this was my first fanfiction ever written, so apologies if it has its flaws. i've also never wrote reader insert before so let me know if there's some way to improve that. i just have a really bad crush on frank and needed to vent it somehow with terrible fanfic writing... :p more chapters to come; thank you again! }}


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